I did this exercise a while back and I thought I'd give it another go.
Awoke to a breeze from the window directly behind my side of the bed. The sun is casting a beautiful golden light over the room. It makes it somehow easier to get up, and I do so after only three hits of the snooze button.
I lumber about in the confusion of post-sleep. I manage to get to the bathroom after some wandering and sit down to defecate. A few second in, a spider crawls across the sink that is less than a foot from my head. I leap up instinctively. There is a pause as I watch it scurry and I realize it literally scared the shit out of me. I quickly grab a tissue and squash the little f**ker. I feel a touch of remorse because I know I shouldn't kill spiders and I know they kill all the REALLY annoying bugs. But my remorse ends when I remember how close it was and how weird it looked with it's yellow body and spindly back legs and the ancient part of me with the caveman reasoning says it was for the better. For the good of the tribe. I make note not to tell Emily and finish the rest of my "bathroom business."
After walking in and out of a few rooms with no sense of purpose, I decide to meditate to clear my mind. I sit upright on the couch and set my 5 minute timer. It's turned into a nice part of my day, where I sit and try to clear my mind, try to concentrate on just my breath and fail repeatedly. The failure is inevitable but I'm trying and that's what's important. The daily reminder is crucial if I want to get anything done.
Once the soft alarm chimps my five minutes, I head to the kitchen to start coffee. A large box sits on the kitchen table and I remember we received a new coffee maker from my old roommate last night as a wedding gift. I decide I have the time to open and set it up.
It's slow going. The parts gleam with all the sexiness of fresh metal and plastic and the consumer in my purrs. I unplug the old coffee maker, the one that's been with us since the beginning, with Emily since college. The new one pot is bigger and more complex and already it's hard to piece together what is what. I do a preliminary brew with no coffee like the booklet suggests. The brewer growls and hisses a touch more then the old and I notice how much I had grown accustomed to the old pots mewls and grumbles. Everything seems in order, and I use the hot water from the pre-brew for my morning oatmeal (another daily addition to my routine since marriage.)
Somewhere in this process Emily's loud alarm goes off. It looks just like one of those alarm clocks you see in the cartoons, but slick, metal and far more obnoxious. She gets up fairly quickly and I'm caught off guard. It must be an important day. I was hoping to surprise her with a morning cup from the new machine but she catches me in the middle of setting up, pieces in hand. This irks me because I feel caught, like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. I get this way about most of the things I make; I don't like being watched during the process. It's an issue of two things: vulnerability and agency. I feel vulnerable being seen before a thing is finished because I am afraid of judgement and misinterpretation. And I think that leads to a loss in agency on my part. If someone sees and I seeing them seeing before a thing is meant to be seen, they put a mark on the thing with their expectations and the opinions that come with their eyes. It feels like a violation, even from my own wife. It's a weird feeling, but I consistently feel it. Intimacy in art is very important to me because I understand how fragile it is. I should revisit this at a later point. I need to get back to the coffeepot.
I manage to successfully shake my feeling of violation and spend the morning completing the set-up for the coffeepot and brew our first cup. Emily is feeling industrious and is ready before I am. I kiss her goodbye and watch her descend the steps from the kitchen. I gather my things together and make my way out but forget my headphones. I have to open a new pack of them because I don't have the time to search for where I left them from yesterday.
When I exit the community center I notice two things: There's a woman sitting on our stoop and there at a large number of people at the T stop across the street. You see, I live right where the green (C) line runs and I've learned to notice the signs for an oncoming train. And lots of people at the stop at this time of day means that I train is coming very soon. Sure enough, only a few steps down the stoop past the woman sitting and the train pulls up. I have a couple options at this point: try to catch the train at the stop right by my house and risk getting through traffic/miss it or sprint to the next stop in hopes that the line gets stopped by a light. This decision must be made in a second otherwise I'll miss the train entirely and have to wait for the next one. I choose the second option and begin running.
I sprint up the sidewalk and cross oncoming traffic quickly because there are no cars at the moment. This puts me at the parking lot next to the tracks. I run as fast as I can without spilling my coffee and see that the train will not be hitting the light after all, which makes me up my pace. I realize I still have to cross in front of the train to get to the correct side for the stop and pick up the pace even more. I see the train coming and quickly cross and sprint the rest of the way on the tiny silver of grass between track and road. I get to the stop just as the train pulls up. I'm still out of breath when I board and take a few extra moments to recognize how close that was. I take a sip from my thoroughly sloshed coffee and dig into my book.
The train ride is uneventful, save for a bald guy with a weird growth on the back of his neck attempting to talk to disinterested passengers about metal bands. I try to tune him out while I read. I'm wedge in a corner by the door and a pole and many arms are close to me and my face. I'm floored by the casual intimacy of strangers on the train and still get the willies whenever they get in close.
When I exit at my stop, my earbud cord snags on a backpack and I have an awkward tussle of gathering it up before I step to the platform. For a few minutes it's one clumsy disjointed human reaction after another leaving the station and finally getting to the lonely alleyway that leads to my building. I see a shirtless guy on a bike go by. He has a tattoo of a bass clef that covers his whole upper arm. I have an imaginary conversation were I point to his tattoo and say "It's all about that bass" and then point to his other arm and say "No treble?" I laugh aloud to myself and hope the folks around my think I'm crazy.
I ponder on the freedom that madness gives you, to break from normal social constructs and just be a flailing, feeling monster. I feel a pang of nostalgia as I walk over crushed cans and discarded cup of instant ramen. I emerge from the alley and see a muscular woman run by in black. She is determined. Running toward or away? Hard to tell at a glance.
As I enter the hotel space a man is standing rummaging through his backpack with a sense of urgency. I get a quick glimpse of another woman running, laden with things, trying to catch something I assume. She is running toward something but it is desperate. Frenzied.
As I step onto the escalator I see there's another convention in town in full swing. The lanyards and dopey, bright eyed faces give it away. They are on some mini vacation in the bustling city. Everything is new and fun and exciting. I live here and am going to work, where things are dreary and the same. I resent the tourists, the conventioneers, with their enthusiasm. I instinctively put on a miserable face to counter it, to yin the yang.
I pass a part of the convention center that is usually closed, but today it is peeled open. It exposes a halogen lit kitchen mid-space, and I see racks of foodstuffs but no people. Then I hear them in the back, laughing while dishes click about, laughing as intimate friends do. I feel special and privy to a secret thing and my spirits lift. They can enjoy work. Maybe I can too.
I see a man scarfing a breakfast burrito over a garbage can while checking his phone. It's a passing glimpse, so it my mind it goes in slow motion, back in forth to infinity: Hand lifts burrito to face. Chomp. Burrito hand goes down as phone goes up to face. Swipe. Phone hand goes down as burrito hand goes up. Burrito. Phone. Burrito. Phone. Like an odd work-out or performance piece.
I approach security and breathe easier. The guard I hate is not there. I have no real reason to loathe her so much. I say it's in her droopy eyes, the way she holds her tiny emaciated frame with defiance. It only stems from a single instance where she made me re-present my ID to her months ago. It was nothing really. But the damage was done, the hatred is there and I can't seem to shake it. I do petty little things when she is there, like taking as extra moment to show her my badge, daring her to ask to see it again and then muttering about her under my breath as I leave. I'm not proud of this, but it is something I do.
It's Gatling elevator today, with one body per floor, and each bolts out one after another. Once again, bodies in a tight space looking around at anything but each other, buds defiantly in ears. I look to the screen that tells the floor time and weather. Sometimes there are announcements on it. Today it talks about something called Edyn. Says it's the "FitBit of gardening" where it monitors water levels and stuff. I make a face at it, then realize I'm still in a crowded elevator and hope no one noticed.
Once on my floor, I see this large Indian man enter the business that's across from us. The company is called Thync (lots of corporations today with unnecessary "y"s) and they do something with electric stimulation for brain enhancement. I'm not sure if it's all bullshit, but I have done a couple of hour long test sessions for them for $50 a pop. I've seen the Indian man around before and he always intrigues me. He's quite large, but he carries himself with such a meek demeanor he could be blown away by a breath. And he always has this dead look in his eyes that reminds me of the security guard I hate. But I don't hate this man. I desperately want to poke him and see if there's something stirring in that hulking body of his.
I hit the office quick and hard and check some e-mails and start writing in between projects. I learn about a half hour into the day that I am the only person in my department, much to my surprise. This is a huge relief. Not only can I do my own work on the side more easily, I can also get my actual job done much quicker and with greater ease. It's amazing how much better I feel without them and I note this for later. I must take steps to get out of here.
I work on spreadsheets and enter and file PCNs (Payroll Change Notices...curse this corporate jargon,) and of course write here while it's fresh. Jokes are bandied about my being the only one in my department today. Time surges and slugs at a jaunty pace.
I eat a paltry meal of a handful of homemade jalapeno poppers from Cinco De Mayo and a banana. I do this over more filing and surfing the internet. I get called to reception to cover for a moment and field some questions about health care plans. I send e-mails and texts and decide to go for a walk in the mall area before my window for lunch (12-2) is closed. I walk about the Barnes and Noble, gleaning bits from titles and casually watching people. I pick up a book on proper push-up form as I'm pretty sure I've been doing it wrong the past ten months. Turns out I have and I can now account for the tightness in my back. I then end up in a lifestyle section and glance across the sex section and realize I'm not embarrassed to be seen there. A first. This takes me to a section on creativity. I pick up a small book called "Steal like an artist" I turn to a section entitled "Be boring" and read a bit. Basically it prescribes being a rational, responsible adult where ever possible to make your art happen. I feel good and validated by this. Then a goony looking guy asks me how it is. I try to give him an honest answer, but I'm floored by his presumption that I would like to speak with him. It's a like an unwritten contract is broken. I look at the book a few moments longer and then walk away and return to my corporate tower.
I sit and have a conversation with my co-worker Erin while she plays with a Lego dinosaur skeleton. Someone pulls her quickly over an accounting issue and I decide to hunker down and finish up a few projects before the end of the work day.
After this the day gets hazy...I take the train home, do some dishes and take a nap. Emily is out with lab friends so when I wake up from the nap I eat some cheese and crackers and leftover pasta primaverde. I spend some time surfing the web and playing some games before working out.
Emily gets home around ten and we sit together and talk about the future and how we would go about making a small kitchen island. It's lovely. I realize I haven't had a drink tonight and that's probably why time seems to be going slower. We turn in around midnight with the windows open to the sounds of the twilight breeze and passing cars.
Today's Drawing and "365" project (make an alternative sign to signify gender at a bathroom. I think we'll put this one over ours! For those not familiar with the term, check it here!)
"Everybody Poops"
Awoke to a breeze from the window directly behind my side of the bed. The sun is casting a beautiful golden light over the room. It makes it somehow easier to get up, and I do so after only three hits of the snooze button.
I lumber about in the confusion of post-sleep. I manage to get to the bathroom after some wandering and sit down to defecate. A few second in, a spider crawls across the sink that is less than a foot from my head. I leap up instinctively. There is a pause as I watch it scurry and I realize it literally scared the shit out of me. I quickly grab a tissue and squash the little f**ker. I feel a touch of remorse because I know I shouldn't kill spiders and I know they kill all the REALLY annoying bugs. But my remorse ends when I remember how close it was and how weird it looked with it's yellow body and spindly back legs and the ancient part of me with the caveman reasoning says it was for the better. For the good of the tribe. I make note not to tell Emily and finish the rest of my "bathroom business."
After walking in and out of a few rooms with no sense of purpose, I decide to meditate to clear my mind. I sit upright on the couch and set my 5 minute timer. It's turned into a nice part of my day, where I sit and try to clear my mind, try to concentrate on just my breath and fail repeatedly. The failure is inevitable but I'm trying and that's what's important. The daily reminder is crucial if I want to get anything done.
Once the soft alarm chimps my five minutes, I head to the kitchen to start coffee. A large box sits on the kitchen table and I remember we received a new coffee maker from my old roommate last night as a wedding gift. I decide I have the time to open and set it up.
It's slow going. The parts gleam with all the sexiness of fresh metal and plastic and the consumer in my purrs. I unplug the old coffee maker, the one that's been with us since the beginning, with Emily since college. The new one pot is bigger and more complex and already it's hard to piece together what is what. I do a preliminary brew with no coffee like the booklet suggests. The brewer growls and hisses a touch more then the old and I notice how much I had grown accustomed to the old pots mewls and grumbles. Everything seems in order, and I use the hot water from the pre-brew for my morning oatmeal (another daily addition to my routine since marriage.)
Somewhere in this process Emily's loud alarm goes off. It looks just like one of those alarm clocks you see in the cartoons, but slick, metal and far more obnoxious. She gets up fairly quickly and I'm caught off guard. It must be an important day. I was hoping to surprise her with a morning cup from the new machine but she catches me in the middle of setting up, pieces in hand. This irks me because I feel caught, like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. I get this way about most of the things I make; I don't like being watched during the process. It's an issue of two things: vulnerability and agency. I feel vulnerable being seen before a thing is finished because I am afraid of judgement and misinterpretation. And I think that leads to a loss in agency on my part. If someone sees and I seeing them seeing before a thing is meant to be seen, they put a mark on the thing with their expectations and the opinions that come with their eyes. It feels like a violation, even from my own wife. It's a weird feeling, but I consistently feel it. Intimacy in art is very important to me because I understand how fragile it is. I should revisit this at a later point. I need to get back to the coffeepot.
I manage to successfully shake my feeling of violation and spend the morning completing the set-up for the coffeepot and brew our first cup. Emily is feeling industrious and is ready before I am. I kiss her goodbye and watch her descend the steps from the kitchen. I gather my things together and make my way out but forget my headphones. I have to open a new pack of them because I don't have the time to search for where I left them from yesterday.
When I exit the community center I notice two things: There's a woman sitting on our stoop and there at a large number of people at the T stop across the street. You see, I live right where the green (C) line runs and I've learned to notice the signs for an oncoming train. And lots of people at the stop at this time of day means that I train is coming very soon. Sure enough, only a few steps down the stoop past the woman sitting and the train pulls up. I have a couple options at this point: try to catch the train at the stop right by my house and risk getting through traffic/miss it or sprint to the next stop in hopes that the line gets stopped by a light. This decision must be made in a second otherwise I'll miss the train entirely and have to wait for the next one. I choose the second option and begin running.
I sprint up the sidewalk and cross oncoming traffic quickly because there are no cars at the moment. This puts me at the parking lot next to the tracks. I run as fast as I can without spilling my coffee and see that the train will not be hitting the light after all, which makes me up my pace. I realize I still have to cross in front of the train to get to the correct side for the stop and pick up the pace even more. I see the train coming and quickly cross and sprint the rest of the way on the tiny silver of grass between track and road. I get to the stop just as the train pulls up. I'm still out of breath when I board and take a few extra moments to recognize how close that was. I take a sip from my thoroughly sloshed coffee and dig into my book.
The train ride is uneventful, save for a bald guy with a weird growth on the back of his neck attempting to talk to disinterested passengers about metal bands. I try to tune him out while I read. I'm wedge in a corner by the door and a pole and many arms are close to me and my face. I'm floored by the casual intimacy of strangers on the train and still get the willies whenever they get in close.
When I exit at my stop, my earbud cord snags on a backpack and I have an awkward tussle of gathering it up before I step to the platform. For a few minutes it's one clumsy disjointed human reaction after another leaving the station and finally getting to the lonely alleyway that leads to my building. I see a shirtless guy on a bike go by. He has a tattoo of a bass clef that covers his whole upper arm. I have an imaginary conversation were I point to his tattoo and say "It's all about that bass" and then point to his other arm and say "No treble?" I laugh aloud to myself and hope the folks around my think I'm crazy.
I ponder on the freedom that madness gives you, to break from normal social constructs and just be a flailing, feeling monster. I feel a pang of nostalgia as I walk over crushed cans and discarded cup of instant ramen. I emerge from the alley and see a muscular woman run by in black. She is determined. Running toward or away? Hard to tell at a glance.
As I enter the hotel space a man is standing rummaging through his backpack with a sense of urgency. I get a quick glimpse of another woman running, laden with things, trying to catch something I assume. She is running toward something but it is desperate. Frenzied.
As I step onto the escalator I see there's another convention in town in full swing. The lanyards and dopey, bright eyed faces give it away. They are on some mini vacation in the bustling city. Everything is new and fun and exciting. I live here and am going to work, where things are dreary and the same. I resent the tourists, the conventioneers, with their enthusiasm. I instinctively put on a miserable face to counter it, to yin the yang.
I pass a part of the convention center that is usually closed, but today it is peeled open. It exposes a halogen lit kitchen mid-space, and I see racks of foodstuffs but no people. Then I hear them in the back, laughing while dishes click about, laughing as intimate friends do. I feel special and privy to a secret thing and my spirits lift. They can enjoy work. Maybe I can too.
I see a man scarfing a breakfast burrito over a garbage can while checking his phone. It's a passing glimpse, so it my mind it goes in slow motion, back in forth to infinity: Hand lifts burrito to face. Chomp. Burrito hand goes down as phone goes up to face. Swipe. Phone hand goes down as burrito hand goes up. Burrito. Phone. Burrito. Phone. Like an odd work-out or performance piece.
I approach security and breathe easier. The guard I hate is not there. I have no real reason to loathe her so much. I say it's in her droopy eyes, the way she holds her tiny emaciated frame with defiance. It only stems from a single instance where she made me re-present my ID to her months ago. It was nothing really. But the damage was done, the hatred is there and I can't seem to shake it. I do petty little things when she is there, like taking as extra moment to show her my badge, daring her to ask to see it again and then muttering about her under my breath as I leave. I'm not proud of this, but it is something I do.
It's Gatling elevator today, with one body per floor, and each bolts out one after another. Once again, bodies in a tight space looking around at anything but each other, buds defiantly in ears. I look to the screen that tells the floor time and weather. Sometimes there are announcements on it. Today it talks about something called Edyn. Says it's the "FitBit of gardening" where it monitors water levels and stuff. I make a face at it, then realize I'm still in a crowded elevator and hope no one noticed.
Once on my floor, I see this large Indian man enter the business that's across from us. The company is called Thync (lots of corporations today with unnecessary "y"s) and they do something with electric stimulation for brain enhancement. I'm not sure if it's all bullshit, but I have done a couple of hour long test sessions for them for $50 a pop. I've seen the Indian man around before and he always intrigues me. He's quite large, but he carries himself with such a meek demeanor he could be blown away by a breath. And he always has this dead look in his eyes that reminds me of the security guard I hate. But I don't hate this man. I desperately want to poke him and see if there's something stirring in that hulking body of his.
I hit the office quick and hard and check some e-mails and start writing in between projects. I learn about a half hour into the day that I am the only person in my department, much to my surprise. This is a huge relief. Not only can I do my own work on the side more easily, I can also get my actual job done much quicker and with greater ease. It's amazing how much better I feel without them and I note this for later. I must take steps to get out of here.
I work on spreadsheets and enter and file PCNs (Payroll Change Notices...curse this corporate jargon,) and of course write here while it's fresh. Jokes are bandied about my being the only one in my department today. Time surges and slugs at a jaunty pace.
I eat a paltry meal of a handful of homemade jalapeno poppers from Cinco De Mayo and a banana. I do this over more filing and surfing the internet. I get called to reception to cover for a moment and field some questions about health care plans. I send e-mails and texts and decide to go for a walk in the mall area before my window for lunch (12-2) is closed. I walk about the Barnes and Noble, gleaning bits from titles and casually watching people. I pick up a book on proper push-up form as I'm pretty sure I've been doing it wrong the past ten months. Turns out I have and I can now account for the tightness in my back. I then end up in a lifestyle section and glance across the sex section and realize I'm not embarrassed to be seen there. A first. This takes me to a section on creativity. I pick up a small book called "Steal like an artist" I turn to a section entitled "Be boring" and read a bit. Basically it prescribes being a rational, responsible adult where ever possible to make your art happen. I feel good and validated by this. Then a goony looking guy asks me how it is. I try to give him an honest answer, but I'm floored by his presumption that I would like to speak with him. It's a like an unwritten contract is broken. I look at the book a few moments longer and then walk away and return to my corporate tower.
I sit and have a conversation with my co-worker Erin while she plays with a Lego dinosaur skeleton. Someone pulls her quickly over an accounting issue and I decide to hunker down and finish up a few projects before the end of the work day.
After this the day gets hazy...I take the train home, do some dishes and take a nap. Emily is out with lab friends so when I wake up from the nap I eat some cheese and crackers and leftover pasta primaverde. I spend some time surfing the web and playing some games before working out.
Emily gets home around ten and we sit together and talk about the future and how we would go about making a small kitchen island. It's lovely. I realize I haven't had a drink tonight and that's probably why time seems to be going slower. We turn in around midnight with the windows open to the sounds of the twilight breeze and passing cars.
Haiku of the Day:
Heavy huffs and puffs
while holding a metal pole
train moves regardless
while holding a metal pole
train moves regardless
Today's Drawing and "365" project (make an alternative sign to signify gender at a bathroom. I think we'll put this one over ours! For those not familiar with the term, check it here!)
"Everybody Poops"
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